


Losing / Finding

by MadameMeduse



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alpha Eskel (The Witcher), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, Gender Identity, Homophobia, Kaer Morhen's Fanon Hot Springs (The Witcher), M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Omega Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Pain, Sacking of Kaer Morhen (The Witcher), Self-Acceptance, Substance Abuse, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:40:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29066712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameMeduse/pseuds/MadameMeduse
Summary: There are no such things as Alphas, Betas, and Omegas under the Wolves of Kaer Morhen when Geralt and Eskel grow up.There are only Witchers and mages and alchemists who make sure that the weaknesses and instabilities that inevitably come with the secondary gender are eradicated.Until the fateful day that changes everything.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 56
Kudos: 57





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first adventure at the Omegaverse. I adjusted some things I know about the Omegaverse and the Witcher canon, but I hope you like it anyway. Kudos and comments will make my day, so pleeez, don't let me starve. :)

Geralt's mind was drifting in swirls of colors and emotions. He knew he was trapped in a layer of reality someone had forced onto him, but it was impossible to fight the streams of bright light that flared into the very essence of his being.

His eyes sprang open. I hurt. I hurt so much. Catapulted back into his body, every cell of his existence screamed in agony. His eyes burned in their sockets. He wanted to rip off his skin, peel it away to reveal the flesh that lay below.

And the stench. The overwhelming stench.

He rolled over, blinded by pain, shivering, as his stomach emptied itself on the floor. Someone was there. Someone held his body until the spasms trailed off and he fell back.

Geralt remembered where he was. The dormitory. His bed. A thin mattress, a worn-out blanket. The unspeakable realization that the ghosts of the dead children lingered in every corner.

But he was warm. He wasn't alone. A wet cloth cleaned his face. A hand trailed through his hair, straightened the dark locks. 

A voice murmured his name and Geralt's hand shot out, groped the solace that was right next to him. A fond chuckle followed and then, a body joint him on the bed. Legs and arms intertwined, chest touched chest. Geralt's skin still prickled but in a good way. In a way that finally allowed him to exhale.

“Keep your eyes closed”, the voice whispered. Geralt knew it and although it had changed over the course of the last month, it still sent serenity through his weary bones. “It's too much for now. It will get better.”

A firm hand rubbed circles on Geralt's back and the boy just leaned into the touch, too exhausted to respond for a while. The overwhelming attack of scents faded away and left him in a cocoon of fresh sweat, dried tears, and something he had known for years. 

Eskel, he realized. A presence that had grown to be the second half of his own thoughts. The only friend that hadn't passed away during the trials. 

“They – will take me again.”

Geralt didn't recognize his own voice at first. He wasn't sure if had changed or if his hearing had improved as a result of the Trial of the Grasses.

It was dead quiet in the room. The only thing he could hear, the only thing that mattered, was the constant beat of Eskel's heart, steady as the rise and set of the sun over the blue mountains.

“Why?”, the other boy murmured in confusion and Geralt finally opened his eyes. Amber met amber. The shock that seared through Geralt's body left him breathless. It was done. They finally weren't just friends anymore. The trials had formed them into brothers, bound by pain and destiny. Witchers.

“I – don't know”, Geralt breathed and allowed himself to rest his forehead on Eskel's shoulder. He knew their instructors would beat the shit out of them if they were found like this. But he didn't care. What could a cane possibly do to him? They had killed him years ago. His new form was only a mere shadow of the child he had used to be. “I will change again.”

Eskel's arms tightened around his shoulders. Geralt wanted to cry, to finally get rid of his hurt and his fear, but found his eyes dry. Witchers didn't cry. It wasn't meant to be.

“I will be there”, Eskel muttered. “I will always be there, no matter what happens.”

Geralt knew it was true – and a lie, at the same time. But he didn't object and stayed where he was, wrapped in Eskel's embrace, clinging to the comforting steadiness that had always connected them like an invisible band that tied them together.

Later, he heard them coming, approaching through the corridor. Heavy boots. Cold voices, discussing potions and their dosage. His deficiencies.

Slowly Geralt sat up, slipping out of his brother's arms. He looked down at Eskel and saw his own sadness staring back at him with amber intensity.

The young Witcher rose with all the pride he could muster, his body and existence swaying on unsteady feet.

Loss. Fear. Hope. Love. Frustration. His feelings threatened to burst his chest and his head.

Geralt pushed them inside, in the cavity of his shredded soul, and sealed them with a layer of feigned calmness. He wouldn't allow _them_ to see the rest of what they had left of him. It was his secret. The only thing they would never take from him. One day, he would regain what he abandoned now to protect himself.

Until then, it would feel better to feel nothing at all.


	2. Catastrophe

Geralt knew something was wrong when he rode into the small village at the foot of the mountain. The inhabitants of Ban Ghein would normally greet him friendly, as they had always profited from a Witcher keep nearby. The Wolves of Kaer Morhen had saved them from the monsters lurking in the woods and they had kept the secret of the hidden pass that led the Witchers home for winter.

But this time, they didn't look up as he was leading Roach over the muddy roads towards the small merchant's shop. Since he had left his home four years ago, he had stopped by every autumn to buy whatever he needed to spend the cold season in the company of his brothers at the keep.

He heard muffled whispers as he entered the shop. The owner's wife, Griseldis, approached him and presented a quivering smile. Her husband Thorem sat on a stool behind the counter. He looked crestfallen. His large, rough hands clasped a wooden crutch. The sweet stench of old blood hovered in the air.

“I am so sorry”, Griseldis whispered and extended a hand, catching Geralt's wrist. “We couldn't stop them.”

The Witcher stared down at the tiny, old woman and finally understood that something terrible had happened. His eyes narrowed to slits and he could smell the fear seconds before Griseldis' face contorted into a pained grimace.

“What did you do?”, Geralt growled and the woman flinched. 

“We – didn't give it away without a fight. But they had mages and there were so many of them. They killed some of the boys who opposed them and threatened to go on with all the other children. Thorem stood up to them -.” She stuttered, close to tears, but she didn't back away from Geralt's stare.

“Woman, that's enough. If he wants to punish somebody, it should be me.” Thorem rose and hobbled closer. Geralt realized only a stump was left of what had once been a foot and his anger deflated, leaving a void in his chest. “They tortured me, Master Geralt. Still I refused to tell them. Then they ordered a mage to get into my head and – by the gods – I told them.”

“You told them.” The Witcher blinked. He waited for the fear and despair to crawl up from his guts, but nothing happened. A terrible numbness subdued whatever he should have been feeling. “When?”

“It's been a week now. There were only a few people who returned from the pass. We dealt with them.” Thorem's voice wavered. “But none of your kind came down, Master Geralt. I am so sorry. They are still up there.”

The Witcher abruptly turned and left the room, head filled with a strange hum that absorbed everything around him. Later, he couldn't recall how he had made it up the trail. He only came to senses when he smelled the first decomposing bodies and the fumes of burnt wood, fabric and flesh.

He walked over severed limbs, shredded torsos and puddles of dried blood. Bones cracked under his feet. There were familiar faces, ghastly pale in death and agony - and those who had been torn apart by crows and foxes beyond recognition. He had feasted and laughed with these men. They had sparred and bled side by side and now, they were gone. 

His eyes wandered over every corpse, no matter if friend or foe. He needed to know if he would find the two men who he considered not only friends, but family.

Roach whinnied and tugged at her reins. He calmed her with Axii and led her towards the main gate. The portcullis was still open. The bodies of several mages rotted in front of it, their colourful robes drenched in blood and other body fluids.

Kaer Morhen had not been taken by human force or siege weapons. It had been cracked open by magic. Geralt closed his eyes for a moment and entered what was left of the only place he had known as home.

His brothers had fought to the last man. All the other inhabitants of the fortress had also tried to defend themselves. Geralt found the servants, armed with pitchforks and scythes. They had fallen next to the Witchers, cut down by swords, pierced by arrows and burnt alive by chaos.

The walls of the first and second forecourts had crumbled under the impact of fire bolts and alchemic explosions. The stones were blackened with soot and human and Witcher remains. Most of the wooden houses that had been built into the strong walls of Kaer Morhen had burnt to the ground. The ashes were still smoking, polluting the warm late autumn air.

Someone had boarded up the door that led to the dormitories of the young Witchers from the outside and had set the roof on fire. As Geralt stepped closer and removed the wooden beam that blocked his way in, his instincts told him to not open the panel, to not look inside and see what had become of the children.

But he did it. He had to be sure. He needed to see the incomprehensible with his own eyes.

After this, the Witcher sank down to his hands and knees. He stayed like this until dusk painted the mountain tops in shades of pink and red and he heard hesitant steps approaching. Geralt's head snapped up and his hand reached for the hilt of his sword.

A young Witcher stared at him, a lean figure trapped between the changes of the trials and full adulthood. His bloodied hands held a sword. The tip of the weapon hovered in the air.

“You're late”, the boy hissed and collapsed unconscious before Geralt could react. The paralysis finally left him and he sprung to action. 

He cleared a corner of one of the stables and carried the boy there, bedding him on his bedroll. The boy had burns all over his legs. Geralt cleaned them with water from his water skin. After checking the face of the young Witcher for signs of intoxication, he forced a portion of Swallow down the boy's throat.

As soon as the child woke, he started writhing and kicking, until Geralt held him down and took a closer look at the young furious face.

“You are Lambert”, the Witcher suddenly remembered and the kid shuddered as his fighting spirits left him. Lambert's eyes went blank.

“ - in the kitchen. Help - ”, the boy slurred and passed out again.

Geralt's instinct warned him to rush into the keep and find out who Lambert had been talking about. So he entered the banquet hall cautiously and moved as he had learned it. This had once been his home, now it was unknown territory.

The attackers had destroyed everything. The stench of burnt furnitures and the dust of collapsed walls lingered in the air, stirred up by the slight breeze that flooded into the hall through the holes caused by the explosions. There were fewer bodies inside, mostly human women and children who had hoped to find shelter in the heart of the fortress.

Only one faint heartbeat pulsated through the silence.

Geralt found Vesemir in front of the kitchen hearth. Lambert had done a decent job at treating the fighting instructor's severe wounds with potions and traditional medicine. Someone had tried to cut the old Witcher half and smashed his skull. But he was still alive, although he battled death with every shaky breath he sucked it.

Three men left. Only three.

The thought echoed in Geralt's head for the the rest of the day. He prepared a bed for Lambert in front of the hearth and carried the unconscious boy into the kitchen. It was too dangerous for Roach to stay outside, so he led her into the banquet hall and fed her with the tiny rests of hay and grain he had found in the courtyard.

The night was calm, but Geralt didn't sleep. He kept vigil over the two Witchers until the birds began to sing and it was time to act. He searched the keep for food and was relieved to find the underground sweet water springs still running. Most of the rooms had been raided, but the library was intact – one of Kaer Morhen's own mages had protected it with a shimmering barrier of chaos before being stabbed to death. The alchemy laboratory in the basement had been blown to pieces, as well as the entrance to the Circle of Elements, but Geralt was sure the stones could be removed at some point.

Lambert woke up in the morning and only drank a bit of water before returning to sleep. Vesemir regained continuousness hours later, but only stared at Geralt's face before he passed out again.

The bodies. He needed to honour the bodies of his brothers. But he didn't know how. There were too many of them, scattered around like fallen autumn leaves. He just couldn't do it. 

For the first time in his adult life, Geralt was helpless. He didn't eat. He didn't sleep. He stayed where he was, guarding his brothers, feeding them, treating their wounds. After another day, he didn't even smell the corpses any more. After another night, he heard the soft clutter of hooves on stones.

Geralt stumbled out into the light of the new day, body stiff from kneeling endless hours next to Lambert's and Vesemir's makeshift beds, but sword firm in his hands. 

It was Eskel. He was alive.

Geralt collapsed.


	3. Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this will be a longer chapter, I am sorry. :) Hope you enjoy and please leave some kudos or comments for a thirsty Witcher lover.

Having Eskel at his side again did something to Geralt he couldn't describe. He knew his brother descended from the mountain folk, a sworn in community of tribes who cherished family above everything else. And although most of the Witcher's childhood memories had been eradicated, Eskel still acted like a man who instinctively knew how to preserve everything he valued in his new life.

It was Eskel who decided they should bring the bodies – all of them - to the moat and leave them there. A gruesome testimony of what would happen if Witchers got involved in human affairs. They still didn't know who the attackers had been, but judging from the number of religious symbols worn by the dead, it was clear what underlying motives had triggered the attack.

They took turns – one of them brought the corpses out with a cart, the other one cared for Vesemir and Lambert. The young Witcher recovered fast and soon they had three pairs of hands who could make the essential repairs.

“We can't get him down the mountain at the moment”, Eskel said as they sat together, sharing a meal of stale bread and berries. They all turned to watch Vesemir on his bed. “So we have to make sure all of us survive a winter up here.”

Lambert absently scratched his legs. He had been defending the laboratory when someone had thrown a bomb into the room. A mage had shoved Lambert under a workbench before everything else – and every other person – had been blown to pieces.

Geralt gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder and Lambert grimaced. He wasn't too fond of touches and preferred to stay away from the other Witchers.

“I wouldn't want Vesemir to go down there anyway”, Geralt hummed. He made no effort to hide his hostility and found Eskel's gaze lingering on his face.

“Thorem hanged himself after you left”, the dark-haired Witcher slowly said and Geralt suddenly found it impossible to swallow. “Couldn't live with the shame.”

The three fell silent. 

“I can go down to get provisions”, Lambert offered. His hands swirled a dagger around confidently, but his face showed he didn't think he would be entrusted with such an important task.

“That's a good idea”, Geralt hummed and Lambert nearly fell off the bench. “But one of us should go with you. Two carts are better than one and we should take advantage of the two horses we have.”

Lambert nodded and for the first time since Geralt had met him, the young Witcher smiled. After the boy had laid down at his sleeping place and dozed off within seconds, Eskel's gave Geralt a small nod.

“Right decision. He needs to see something outside of this place now. Needs to be encouraged to take over responsibilities. This won't work if one of us backs off.”

Geralt bit his lip and stared down at his hands. The hearth fire crackled softly and as he looked up, he wondered when Eskel's shoulders had grown broader than his own. He could still remember how his brother had watched him fondly from the corner of his eyes on the day they had parted to travel on the Path for the first time. After growing up side by side, both of them had been sad, but none had been willing to admit it.

“I need you to go with Lambert, Eskel”, Geralt begged and rubbed his eyes. “I can't. Not after -.”

“Understood.” They still were able to finish each other's sentences in their head. “I am not sure we can count on the village peoples' bad conscience. We should be prepared for an attack if they blame us for Thorem's death. He was popular. - Get some rest, Wolf. You will need it when you stay here all alone.”

Geralt chose to meditate that night and when the sun came up the next day, he helped harness the horses to the carts and bid his farewell to Eskel and Lambert. Being left behind felt indeed strange, so he distracted himself with hard labor. 

As he entered the kitchen the late afternoon, covered with sweat, dust, and ashes, he met Vesemir's glance. The old man was breathing normally and his eyes were sharp as ever, but his face was still deadly pale, despite all the potions they had forced into him.

“Geralt. How many-?”

“I don't know. Four of us are here. The rest is dead or still on the Path.”

“Grand Master Rennes?”

“Died in the first line.”

Vesemir nodded. He stayed calm, as it was his nature.

“I will rest now. We will talk tomorrow”, the old Witcher mumbled.

And they did. Vesemir was up again the next morning and able to sit upright. This time, he was far more alert and a spark of determination lit his eyes. Geralt liked the look of it. It was a relief to have his teacher back. 

He had learned to make his own decisions during the last years, but wintering at Kaer Morhen had been a constant factor in his life that had provided him stability. A Witcher was a solitary man, but he always had his brothers to keep his back.

Vesemir told him the Grandmaster had hidden some important books in a secret compartment in a pillar in his office on the highest floor of the keep. It turned out they contained a list of all members of the Wolf School and Geralt helped to identify those he had seen among the corpses.

After two hours, Vesemir's lost his focus and needed to lay down again. Geralt kept on working on the books. As he realized there still were several names left, hope bloomed in his chest. There would maybe a way to rebuild the School of the Wolf if they would find enough human alchemists and mages who would be willing to join them.

His eyes wandered over the pages of the old books, paled to light brown. He found legendary Witchers, but also all of the boys who hadn't survived the trials. Each listing contained not only the names and the date of arrival at Kaer Morhen, but also short remarks about the Witchers' fate.

His finger traced over the vellum as he searched for his own name. There were notes about the first two trials he had gone through, but the short reference about his third trial was followed by a symbol Geralt didn't recognize. It resembled a 'W'. He furrowed his brows and started turning the pages of the chronicles again.

The symbol could be found next to only a few other names, young boys who had died after their first trial. There also was another symbol that kept reappearing throughout the chronicles.

It wasn't as rare as the first one, but there were only three or four of these markings in a hundred Witchers. It looked like an “X”, with two straight and two wavy lines. And it marked not only dead children but mostly grown Witchers who had often lived to old age.

His curiosity led him further and he was perplexed to find the second symbol next to Eskel's name. What made his brother and him so special? 

Geralt's pressing duties put an end to his questions. They had found several runaway domestic animals during the last days and they needed to be cared for, as some of them had also suffered injuries. As nobody knew how many Witchers would be returning for winter, they would need as many supplies as possible.

When Eskel and Lambert returned two days later, carts filled with goods, Vesemir was strong enough to greet them in the first fortification. It was a strange moment. After a lifetime of education that had disabled and forbidden any display of affection, the men found it hard to deal with their emotions and hid them under rough shoulder pats and half-hearted jokes.

Life at the fortress became busy again over the course of the next month. More Witchers then expected returned from the Path and as the first snow fell, there were nearly twenty men who inhabited the keep and did everything to restore what had been destroyed. They knew it would never be the same again, but they still had hope and refused to give up on it.

Vesemir had returned to his old self and ordered them around. The days were long and the nights short, but none of the men minded. 

One evening, Vesemir summoned Geralt and Eskel to Grandmaster Rennes' office the old Witcher now used as his own. The two young men exchanged skeptic glanced as they entered and found Vesemir standing on the balcony, staring into the freezing night.

“Boys, we need to talk”, he said and as he turned, Geralt knew something important was to happen. “We now roughly know how many of us survived. And we found out what we have lost – lives, supplies, recipes, knowledge.” He cleared his throat. “Both of you know there's a reason why Witchers are Witchers – and not Alphas, Betas, and Omegas.”

Vesemir's gaze lingered on Eskel who replied dutifully:

“To make sure a Witcher won't be influenced by the instincts and cravings of his second gender. So all boys chosen are Betas, but will never be addressed as this after their trials.”

Vesmir nodded pensively.

“That's at least what the Grandmaster and your instructors have decided to tell you, yes.”

Geralt felt how his hackles rose.

“The symbols in the chronicles”, he mumbled. “They are indicating Alphas and Omegas.”

“I knew you saw them”, Vesemir nodded. He stared to the ground and folded his muscular arms over his chest. “Our mages and alchemist have developed a procedure to find out if a boy is an Alpha, Beta, or Omega during the first trial. That is why we force the boys to undergo the transformation so early – before they present as a member of their secondary gender.”

Eskel's handsome face darkened and Geralt noticed his brother's jaw grinding when Vesemir recommenced with his narration.

“The trials have been designed to suppress the Alpha and Omega genes in a Witcher's body. Mostly Alpha genes, because normally, Omegas die in the first trial, while Alphas make it through the process without greater complications.”

The force of the realization hit Geralt like a sledgehammer. He felt his pulse beating behind his temples. Every cell in his body told him that this wasn't true. That the markings in the chronicles had been lying. But he knew that there was only one Omega who had survived all trials. Him.

“Vesemir”, he rasped and the old man pressed his lips. Eskel shot Geralt a deeply confused glance. His brother still hadn't understood what all of this meant. Geralt envied him, although he knew Eskel's life was going to change dramatically, too.

“Geralt, please, let me finish. You deserve the whole truth”, the old Witcher begged and Geralt remained quiet. “During the first days of Kaer Morhen, it turned out the Alpha genes were much stronger than any trial. Alpha Witchers would eventually develop their characteristic traits sooner or later in their lives and the alchemists came up with special potions to help them suppress their nature.”

“So”, Eskel hummed and shifted from one foot to another. Geralt had rarely seen his brother nervous, but now, the dark-haired man smelled of underlying anxiety. “You decided to treat all of this as a secret because it could influence the dynamics between the Wolves, even with hormones and instincts under control?”

The old Witcher sighed.

“I knew you would understand”, he declared solemnly. “And I count on your discretion, although it – will be difficult. You are an Alpha, Eskel. But we have lost the recipes for the Witcher suppressants. And every person who could brew them.”

“And then there's me”, Geralt grunted. Terror petrified his body. “The only surviving Witcher Omega.”

He didn't need to see Eskel's face to know that his brother was as shaken as Geralt felt. But Eskel was an Alpha. He was the person destiny had meant to be invincible, strong, respected throughout human society.

But Geralt was an abomination among abominations.


	4. Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, exploring the dynamics between the few Witchers that survived the sacking of Kaer Morhen. But what will become of Eskel and Geralt - well, that's another story.
> 
> Please feel free to yell at me in the comments :)

Geralt and Eskel left Vesemir's office and descended to the banquet hall. Neither of them was in the mood to talk and as soon as they arrived at the ground floor, they got dragged into the buzzing activities the rest of the Wolves had erupted into. Even after a long day of working outdoors, restoring the fortifications, the walls, and the portcullis, of tending to animals and training, there still was so much to be done.

All Witchers had set up their bedrolls next to the hearth. Some of them repaired tables, benches, and shelves, others had decided to maintain the weapons they had found at the raided keep, sharpening them with whetstones and producing an endless amount of crossbow bolts.

Young Lambert stood next to an older Witcher, Darinn, who had lost an eye on the Path, but had another talent all Witchers desperately needed – he was a master of potions and Lambert had turned out to be a quick learner. The two men – one broad and scarred, one still a lean youth – had set up a distillery and chopped dried herbs and mushrooms, mixing them with the last drops of hard alcohol that had been found within the walls of Kaer Morhen.

Geralt joined them and offered his help, but his eyes never left Eskel, who erected a scaffold with some other men. Their goal was to close a giant crack in one of the walls of the hall that had been provisionally covered with leather skins during the first days after the sacking. 

Eskel said something to the Witcher next to him, a mountain of a man by the name of Fyn, and both of them erupted into quiet laughter. Geralt cut his thumb with the herb knife he was wielding and cursed under his breath.

“Been scolded by ol' Daddy Vesemir?”, Lambert teased him and handed him a rag without even looking up from his own tasks. 

“Shut it, Lambert. None of your concern”, Geralt hissed. The young man just grinned. After overcoming the first shock, Lambert had demonstrated multiple times that he could really be a prickly asshole, but also a trustworthy Witcher. Geralt liked him, but would never tell him.

His gaze returned to the other side of the hall. Of course, Eskel took the big revelation lightly. He was an Alpha, a predator, and a leader. Always had been and now, biology had confirmed what Geralt had always felt when he had been with his brother.

The Witcher furrowed his brow and pressed the rag to the deep cut in his finger. He was sure Eskel would do well, even without any potions that would suppress the Alpha. A man like his brother, strikingly charming in his quiet ways, would have no problem to find a suitable mating partner to live through – fuck through, to be precise – his rut.

Geralt cursed again, openly this time, and wondered if the connection he and Eskel had instantly made on the day of Geralt's arrival at Kaer Morhen had been a coincidence. But the longer he thought about it, the clearer it became that it must have been their hidden second gender that had drawn them together like a moth to a flame.

Their friendship was nothing more than a cruel joke, made up by their hormones. There was nothing genuine about it and Geralt was sure he needed to make a clear cut. He maybe was unable to deny his second gender, but he still had control over his life. If he decided he wouldn't be an Omega, wouldn't behave like one, he could regain his lost dignity.

Maybe he would be lucky and his Omega would be permanently suppressed by the excruciating third trial that had left him with white hair. He was a rare specimen, after all, a thing that had never been meant to reach adulthood as a Witcher.

Geralt detested the human Omegas he had met during his years on the Path. They were rare and most of them knew they were irresistible. Spoilt, soft creatures who lived in luxury and liked to submit themselves not only to Alphas but to Betas as well.

The Witcher threw the rag on the alchemy table and turned away as he saw how Eskel and Fyn smiled at each other while working on the scaffold. Fyn was a few years older and his blonde mane made him resemble a lion, a powerful creature from the endless sand of the Korath desert.

Was Geralt jealous? Well, maybe this was something he could have admitted to himself before Vesemir's speech about their true nature. Now, everything had changed. Geralt knew he wasn't jealous. He was probably controlled by his own weak nature. A nature he couldn't trust anymore, who could betray him every day of his future life.

When Eskel approached him the next morning during their training lessons, Geralt turned his back on him and stalked away without looking back. But Vesemir noticed, of course, and so Geralt found himself summoned to the old Witcher's office in the evening again, the second time in a row.

“Pup”, Vesemir sighed, calling Geralt by the pet name he had used on him when he had been a frightened, five-year-old boy. “I thought I made myself clear yesterday. Witchers are meant to be brothers, no matter where they came from and no matter who they are.”

“That was before the sacking. And before - yesterday”, Geralt gritted mulishly and the old Witcher sighed, pointing at a pair of armchairs that stood in front of the empty fireplace.

“Sit, Geralt”, Vesemir ordered and Geralt sat, without even knowing why he reacted like this. Vesemir joined him and stared into the cold hearth for a while. A sad smile crinkled the corner of his eyes.

“All of our lives will now be divided into before the sacking and after the sacking, Geralt. Things have changed, yes. And for the worse. Generally and also personally. But I need you, cub, because I need every man in this fortress to do his best. “

Geralt plucked the stuffing out of the chair's damaged armrest, avoiding Vesemir's knowing gaze.

“I am not sure I can do it”, he mumbled. Insecurity was a part of a Witcher's Path, but the trials and his training had restored the confidence he had lost after being dumped by his mother on a dirt road. The confidence he had needed to face the dangers that had been waiting for him. Monsters. Hostile humans. The last fourteen years, he had been trying so hard to regain control over his life and his feelings, but now, he felt lost, again. And he hated it. “But I will give my best to not let this community down.”

“Good”, Vesemir pointed at the hearth. “There will be a fire burning again, next year. We will make it through this winter, Geralt, although it will be hard. But you, of all the boys I have trained, are the strongest.” He winked at him, his weathered face amused. “Not the best one, I dare say, I could possibly never chose between you. Don't waste your potential to be an equal part of this community by following the wrong mindset. Your gender doesn't determine you, Geralt. Only your bad choices will. You will need to rely on your brothers and they need to rely on you.”

The old Witcher nodded sharply, and Geralt knew he had been dismissed. As he closed the door behind him quietly, a familiar scent hit his nostrils and he turned around hesitantly. Eskel stood a few steps below Geralt and looked at him, face darkened by worry.

“Geralt”, Eskel said and his rich baritone resounding in Geralt's chest, reminding him of how much comfort this voice had always given him. “I wanted to apologize. Yesterday was hard. I didn't give you enough time and room to cope with it.”

Geralt's bad conscience spiked as he heard the soft words, meant for his ears only. He shifted from one foot to the other. This was just Eskel's typical way of approaching the hardness of life – he turned his gaze inwards first and tried to find out if he had failed. A leadership quality. An Alpha quality?

“No”, Geralt rasped and dared to meet Eskel's intensive amber gaze. “It was my fault. I – overreacted. I am sorry.” And he was. Sorry for himself, for the man he had always considered his brother, his only real family. Sorry, that one day ago, he would have told Eskel that he was afraid. Now, he just couldn't do it anymore. 

Because he realized how much his perspective on Eskel had changed during the last twenty-four hours. Geralt saw the Alpha in everything Eskel was doing – even if he didn't want to. It was impossible that his brother didn't feel the same way.

He didn't want to behave like the Omega Eskel clearly had to see in him now. Staying strong was the only way to keep their relationship in a balance that wouldn't damage the fragile equilibrium in the Witchers' keep.

“So, we're good?”, Eskel asked and tilted his head, looking up with a hesitant smile. That smile hadn't changed a bit since their childhood. From Geralt's first day at Kaer Morhen on, it had made him feel at home. His brother had always been there, encouraging him, protecting him, making him laugh - and covering his back when Geralt had decided to get in trouble.

But they weren't children anymore and hoping that their friendship would survive a Witcher's existence would be naïve. They would be torn apart by the harshness of the Path anyway, so there was no need to keep up their childish closeness. Now it would at least happen on his own terms and he was allowed to have one small rest of control over the situation.

He was aware that he was denying his brother to have a word in this, but he felt it would be necessary to do so. An Alpha wouldn't need a struggling Omega by his side, no matter when their second gender would be showing. Geralt's decision would make Eskel stronger, even though Geralt knew it would hurt his brother. It would hurt them both.

“Yes”, he mumbled and brushed past Eskel, clapping the other man's broad shoulders. “We're good. It might just take some time, but we will get along.”

He didn't tell Eskel that 'time' could possibly mean 'forever', but as he left his brother in the stairwell to be nothing more than a friend, he was sure that Eskel realized that a part of Geralt would be lost to him forever.


	5. Shame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely people. Thank you so much for your comments. Things become - smuttier in this chapter. I hope you like it :)
> 
> Please note I decided to add another tag - 'non-consensual voyeurism'. One side likes to peek, the other one doesn't know. If you don't like to read it, please stop at the phrase "So he just stared at the doorknob like a sleepwalker and wondered how this had happened."

They made it through the winter and when spring came, the Witchers of Kaer Morhen headed out once again to follow the Path. Only Vesemir stayed behind. He now was the keeper of what was left of the once-proud fortress in the blue mountains. 

Maybe, Geralt thought as he mounted Roach on a wet spring day, a part of the old man had died during the sacking. He had noticed how often Vesemir had been staring into the void as if he was listening to voices that had been long gone.

But not only Vesemir struggled. Geralt looked down at Lambert, who would accompany him down the pass for the second time in his life - but this time, he would be leaving for the Path. The young Witcher looked gloomy and tired. Geralt knew that Lambert suffered terrible nightmares that forced him to spend his restless nights in the restored laboratory in the basement of the keep to distract himself from the terrible memories.

“Ready?”, Geralt asked. Nobody had been asking him when he had left Kaer Morhen for the first time five years ago. But now, it felt appropriate.

“Want me to lie, pretty boy?”, Lambert sneered. Geralt just shrugged and drove Roach forward. He had the feeling his travel companion would be off the moment he would be able to lay his hands on a horse. Which was fine. Geralt preferred to be on his own, anyway.

After a long winter of being trapped with the same twenty men, he longed for female company. A soft body and some hours of ecstasy would help him to get rid of the constant sensation of pressure he had been feeling in his groins during the last months. 

The other Witchers hadn't been subtle then it came to sexual pleasures. The constant scent of arousal and salty cum that had filled the banquet hall during the nights had been a constant attack on Geralt's fine senses. Some of the men had begun to openly establish sexual relations, something that had been strictly forbidden before the sacking. But Vesemir had decided to accept the changes and never lost a word about it unless it had had the potential to distract the group.

But as soon as Lambert left him, Geralt realized he had the usual Witcher problem – before money, there had to be monster contracts. So he traveled south and eliminated two nests of Nekkers and some harpyies for the town council of Ard Carraigh before he had enough money to buy supplies and visit a brothel he often frequented when he was in town.

The madam was a strikingly beautiful blonde woman in her forties and only known by the name of “Madam Rose”. She smiled broadly as the Witcher entered her house in the evening and clapped her hands. The smell of perfume, lust, and a strangely familiar musky note lingered everywhere in the entrance hall and Geralt crinkled his nose. A necessary evil when it came to brothel visits.

“Ah, good evening, Master Witcher. It's been a while. The usual?” Which used to be a long, hot bath and a night with one of the women. Geralt wasn't choosy when it came to female company. But he preferred girls you didn't stink of fear when he bedded them. Luckily, some Wolf Witchers had saved Madam Rose's life two decades ago and she was known to only choose whores who were brave enough to fuck men who were considered monsters throughout the continent.

“Yes please”, he said politely and handed over a purse. Geralt already wanted to turn towards the bathroom, when Rose's voice stopped him.

“Quite a coincidence”, she smiled. The purse slit into her skirt's pockets. “Two Witchers at the same time.”

Geralt froze and tilted his head, trying to identify the scent he had caught a whiff of earlier. He groaned and Rose furrowed her plucked brows.

“Everything alright? Is there a problem?”

“No, I -.” Geralt mumbled. Of all the Witchers on the Continent, why did it have to be Eskel? On second thought, it was him who had introduced the brothel to his brother two years ago and Eskel had liked it.

Geralt exhaled slowly and straightened up his shoulders. Vesemir had asked him to behave normally when it came to Eskel, so he would do exactly what the old Witcher had told him. He had managed to keep a safe, but friendly distance to the other man over the winter, a concurrent brothel visit wouldn't change that.

Maybe they wouldn't even meet. And there was no chance Rose would return his money, so Geralt knew it was the logical choice to just go ahead with his initial plan. He pushed away the strange feeling that settled in the pit of his stomach and went to the bathroom, where some dark haired girls had already started filling the wooden tub with clear water.

They giggled as they finally left the room and winked at him playfully. After heating the water with the Igni sign, Geralt leaned his weapons to the wall next to the tub and stripped. His dirty clothes fell to the floor and seconds later, he slid into the water with a satisfied sigh.

The heat stung in the numerous scratches he had suffered during the fights with the monsters, but it was a good pain and he welcomed it, being a distraction he needed to keep his thoughts away from Eskel. But as soon as his body relaxed, he found his mind wandering through wooden walls.

How could he distance himself from a person he knew as he knew himself? His first memories about Kaer Morhen were about meeting Eskel in the training barracks. The foreign boy's dark eyes, lit by silent laughter, had welcomed Geralt without a hint of shyness. Soon, they had begun to share their secrets, their fears, and sometimes also a bed, when one of them had been haunted by nightmares.

Missing Eskel was like missing a part of his soul. During the silent winter month, he had often wished to just cross the distance he had built up between them. But then he had remembered that one day, they would have been forced to part anyway. There was no chance an Alpha and an Omega could stay at Kaer Morhen at the same time. Geralt knew that they would be inevitably drawn to each other, their choice taken away by their instincts and distinctive scent. 

And, the distant gods be damned, Geralt wasn't willing to submit himself to another man. Or an Alpha woman, because – did they even exist? He preferred Beta women and as far as he knew, Eskel did, too. Or didn't he?

Geralt sat up with a jolt and water spilled over the brim of the tub. Shit. It shouldn't make a difference if Eskel slept with men or women. But a part of him wanted to know if his brother was enduring the same amount of reluctance Geralt had been feeling after the reveal of their second gender.

He was painfully aware that all he had to do was ask. But secretly, deep down inside, he feared the answers. If his brother – his friend, he corrected himself – was suffering as bad as Geralt did, there would be not use for a conversation anyway. Mutual suffering would only lead to nothing but more misery.

And if Eskel fucked men, then Geralt would need to wonder if their lifelong friendship had based not only on Alpha and Omega genes but also on Eskel's sexual orientation. And that thought, too, was just too strange to deal with.

His feet touched the floorboards before Geralt realized what he was doing. He draped a towel around his hips and left the bathroom, leaving a trial of wet droplets and the two confused whores who had been waiting for him behind. It was easy to follow Eskel's scent, now that he was aware of the other man's presence.

His instincts led him to one of the rooms on the other side of the building. The door was locked, but the unmistakable noises and smells of sex that drifted into the corridor hit Geralt's senses and made him hesitate once again. A part of him wanted to see what Eskel was doing on the other side of that door. He needed to know if the flesh his friend was thrusting into was a man's or a woman's.

But the only voice he could hear was Eskel's, murmuring passionate praises and encouragements and Geralt's other senses were still blocked by the overwhelming mixture of sweat, perfume, and body fluids that lingered in the air. So he just stared at the doorknob like a sleepwalker and wondered how this had happened. 

Soft steps approached and as the Witcher looked up, he met Madam Rose's amused glance. He expected to be scolded for running around dripping wet, but instead, she winked and took his hand. Geralt let himself be led into a room right next to Eskel's. He wanted to protest as he understood what she was up to, but he knew he would be giving himself away by speaking up. So he pressed his lips into a thin line and followed Rose's lead.

The peephole in the wall was tiny, but Geralt knew too well it would be more than sufficient. Rose's surprisingly firm hand guided him. His forehead made contact with the cool wall. At first, he didn't dare to open his eyes.

But the noises emerging from the other room were impossible to ignore and finally, Geralt surrendered and followed the seduction of sound.

The scene that unfolded before his eyes took away his breath. Eskel was fucking a man. The whore was on his hands and knees, his toned, but slim body covered with sweat. Eskel knelt behind him, sliding into the harlot at a steady, merciless pace that made his partner writhing under him. The whore was quiet, but the dark-haired Witcher wasn't. Eskel mumbled incoherent words and groaned throatily when his hips met his partner's ass with hard smacks. His beautiful face was contorted with lust and the feverish need to reach his climax.

Geralt suppressed a moan and felt that his own body began to betray him. The towel he wore started to slide down as his cock began to pulse and he cupped himself with one hand through the rough fabric, not knowing if he wanted to regain control over his body or give in to the longing he was feeling in his groin.

He knew this was a betrayal. Pushing Eskel away, but admiring his powerful body ploughing another man's ass was wrong. And telling himself that this situation only aroused him because he hadn't fucked a woman in months was pure hypocrisy. 

Geralt didn't pull away from the peephole, no matter how desperately he wanted to leave the room. Instead, he watched how Eskel finally pulled out of the whore and stroked his large cock before he released himself all over the young man's ass. His hoarse groan made Geralt shiver with shame.

He had never reacted to the other Witchers at the keep, but this was something completely different and it left him wondering if he went insane. Or if his Omega was beginning to take control over his life.

Geralt hated both thoughts. But the thing he despised the most at the moment was himself.


	6. Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, some warnings here. Geralt really struggles with Eskel's second gender and sexual orientation. But you know we, they're idiots in love and they will be fine. Some day. :)

“You know what, pretty boy? You should retract that stick you shoved up your ass last year. It certainly your backbone.”

Geralt dunked Lambert headfirst into the snowdrift without even blinking. When the young Witcher re-emerged, he spluttered and cursed. The first year on the path had not only left him with a prominent scar on his forehead but with a wide repertoire of new swearwords.

“No backbone, hm?”, Geralt grumbled and a snowball hit him in the neck half a second later. As he turned, he saw Vesemir standing in the courtyard. The old Witcher was wiping snow from his gloves and eyed the younger men sternly. 

“Reflexes, cubs. It's all about reflexes.”

Geralt groaned at that, but he had to admit that it was good to see how light Vesemir's step was as the Head of the School of the Wolf left the courtyard. It was the first snow of the winter at Kaer Morhen and the Witchers who had returned to the fortress were busy with the last preparations for the period of the year that would trap them inside of the keep. This year, there wouldn't be hunger or fear, but cautious hope for a better future.

Geralt and Lambert had been assigned to control the stables' roofs so they wouldn't collapse under the weight of the snow. But soon, they had been distracted by the serene beauty of the snowflakes and the tranquillity winter brought upon the mountains.

Until Lambert had decided out of the blue that it was time to return to sarcastic insults and Geralt still didn't understand why. Lambert only lashed out to conceal that something was bothering him. Sure, the young Witcher was no ray of sunshine and the most foul-mouthed person Geralt had ever met, but still -.

“What do you mean?”, he asked and sighed, leaning onto the wooden post that supported the roof of the goat stable. Lambert snorted and fished snow out of his collar.

“You and Eskel”, the young Witcher answered and rolled his eyes. “I mean, it's none of my business, but everybody knows you two fought. And as he's Vesemir's well-behaved pet, it must be you who fucked it up.”

Geralt tried to dunk Lambert into the snow again, but this time, the young man was swift enough and cackled like an idiot chicken as he escaped on the ramp that led up to the second fortification.

“I heard my name?” Geralt's back muscles tensed up as he heard the familiar voice ringing from the gatehouse. Eskel was back from the path. He led his packed horse, a sturdy apple grey, into the courtyard and shook off the snow that had been piling up on the hood and shoulders of his brown wool coat. “Did he just call me a well-behaved pet?”

“He certainly did”, Geralt retorted with a wide grin. The joy that trickled through his body made him forget about his well-considered plans on how to avoid Eskel. Instead, out of a fifteen years old instinct, he bolted forward and pulled the other man into a bear hug.

Eskel froze in surprise, but only for a second, and then he hugged him back with a vigor Geralt hadn't expected.

“I missed you”, Eskel murmured softly and a fresh wave of shame cut through Geralt's guts as he remembered the scene he had witnessed at the brothel in spring. He tried to move away, suddenly disgusted by his misstep, but Eskel still held him close, checked his face for any signs of fresh injuries. “Glad you didn't get killed, Wolf.”

Eskel's was low and it rumbled in the most pleasing way, sending Geralt's guts into a spiral of weakness and joy.

“Wolf?” Geralt was relieved that Eskel finally let him go and that they could return to the safe ground of conversation. “Why the new nickname?”

He observed that the other Witcher understood that the moment of unexpected closeness was over and how a strange, distant look appeared in his friend's dark amber eyes before Eskel shrugged and lowered his gaze. Slowly, he took up his horse's reins again and led it towards the largest stable on the yard.

“Just felt right”, he gave back and shot Geralt another speculative glance over his shoulder before he disappeared into the crooked building.

Geralt cursed under his breath and rubbed his stubble. He felt awkward and guilty and wondered what he had done to Eskel by embracing him and pushing him away within seconds. So he made up his mind, took a deep breath of crisp air, and followed his friend.

The smell of warm horse bodies greeted him when he entered the stables. Roach whinnied as he tried to pass by her box, so he gave her forehead a soft scratch before he dared to catch up with Eskel. His mind raced and then went blank. How should he start a conversation that would possibly turn out to be catastrophic?

But as always, Eskel made it easy for Geralt by handing him his saddlebags to keep his hands busy and his thoughts focused.

“I – need to apologize”, Geralt mumbled and felt like his five-year-old self again. “I have been rude and I – never wanted to hurt you. Which I did.”

Eskel heaved the saddle from his horse's back and put it on a free stand. Then he turned to meet Geralt's gaze.

“Yes, you did”, Eskel said and began to brush down his grey. His dark brows were furrowed, but his eyes weren't hostile. They were sad. “I haven't chosen what both of us will become one day, Geralt. Nor that I love men, as you now know.”

Geralt winced and pressed the saddlebags closer to his chest before he decided he looked pathetic and hung them over a wooden beam.

“You know about -”, he spluttered and his ears burnt uncomfortably. “Damn. I mean – sorry.”

Eskel grinned at that half-heartedly.

“I know your smell, Wolf.” A low chuckle followed. “Though I didn't expect it there.”

“Listen, if I can make it up somehow -”, Geralt stammered and Eskel threw him a second brush.

“Help me and I'll tell you”, Eskel demanded and Geralt's body moved on its own. This time, he decided it shouldn't bother him. Maybe he could start to accept that there was a strange dynamic between them. Until a certain point, he didn't want to think about.

The apple grey tried to bite as he approached him. Geralt sighed, but evaded the sharp teeth with ease.

“First of all”, Eskel said severely and looked at Geralt over the horse's back. The dark-haired Witcher's eyes were dimmed by sadness and he visibly tried to remain composed. “You have to decide how you will treat me in the future. I can live with you ignoring me, although it hurts. I know you feel threatened by what I am – and what I could become. But all the back and forth is really tough and it's exactly what Vesemir didn't want.”

“Esk, I am not afraid of you being – into men.” Geralt coughed and fondled his coat's collar. It felt uncomfortably tight. “I just want to know that you are not – hm – just with me because - .”

This was even harder than expected. Words were his sworn enemies sometimes. He knew he had ruined everything when the brush in Eskel's hand stilled.

“You want to know if we are friends because I want to fuck you? Really?” Eskel's broad shoulders went rigid and for the first time in years, Geralt could tell that Eskel was really furious from the way his friend's voice rose. “You come to spy at me at a brothel and wait half a year to apologize - and then you panic because I might find you attractive? What do you expect? That I force myself onto you?”

Geralt flinched and his back collided with the wall of the box. His jaw heightened.

“Don't do that, Eskel”, he spat and threw his brush to the ground. Being called out felt terrible and all he wanted to do is directing his anger somewhere where it couldn't turn inwards again. “That's not what I meant. I came to apologize!”

“But you didn't came for me. You came because _you_ wanted to feel better”, Eskel answered and his dark voice sounded surprisingly wobbly. “This is all about your and selfish decisions. You backed off, you avoided me, although I never hurt you in any way. The moment you found out I was an Alpha, you decided to fear me. You decided I was a predator and you were my victim. And now that you know I fuck men, you also see me as someone who has only befriended you because he just wants to get in your pants.”

Geralt opened his mouth, but it fell shut again. Every word cut like a knife because it was nothing but the truth. Eskel shook his dark head and pressed his lips into a thin, bloodless line. Geralt had never seen the other man so pale and shattered before. But Eskel wasn't done yet.

“If you have decided to feel threatened by destiny, that's your choice. But don't use me as destiny's face. That's not fair, Wolf.”

Geralt had anticipated that he would be confronted with his friend's rage. But what hurt the most was the disappointment that distorted Eskel's tanned, handsome face. Geralt's own fury vanished and only left numbness.

He had ruined a perfect friendship and hadn't been able to apologize properly. Because he had tried it out of all the wrong motives. And Eskel had known it, because Eskel always knew. He was the wiser man. The better man.

“I know it's not fair”, Geralt mumbled helplessly. Still he didn't know what he should feel or what he should do to make it right. “But – I just can't get it out of my head. It's all I can think about when I am with you. That you might take advantage of me because you are an Alpha and I am an Omega.”

Eskel's voice was only a hoarse whisper.

“If you have truly lost your trust in me, there's nothing more to talk about any more, Wolf.”


	7. Deirdre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's Valentine's Day. What could be more romantic than...no romance, but pain and regret? :) Hope you like this chapter anyway.

Geralt's life was strange without Eskel's constant presence. Sometimes, during the long winters at the keep, he felt the urge to just turn around and see if Eskel was still there, somewhere. But he knew he had driven the man out of his life with his incapability to handle his own conflicting feelings.

At least he could observe how Eskel moved on. The year after their confrontation at the stables, Eskel started spending more time with Fyn, a calm and friendly Witcher who matched his personality perfectly.

Geralt found out he hated the view of them being together, their reek of sex and closeness and so he threw himself into work. He started to excavate the remains of the hot springs that had been damaged during the sacking and asked Lambert to help him with some well-placed explosives. It took Geralt three years to clear the cave from debris and another winter to redirect the hot water pouring from the rocks underneath the keep into the pools he had carved out.

Lambert had developed exceptional skills under Darinn's tutorship and when the old Witcher didn't return from the path one year, it was Lambert who took over the responsibilities for the laboratory and the armory. He worked hard to rediscover the lost mutagens. At some point, he even had success, but it seemed that some recipes had indeed been gone forever.

Winters followed summers and the life at Kaer Morhen revived. Some Witchers had brought surprise children or orphans from the Path and began to train them under Vesemir's supervision. Geralt sometimes stayed for the summer to help his mentor, but most of the years, he went out to travel on the Path alone. Just like Lambert, he couldn't stand the screams of the young boys who underwent the transformation into a Witcher. But he knew in his heart that the time of the Wolves of Kaer Morhen would inevitably end in the years to come.

Geralt was alright. He fought, bled, and got paid. He ate, slept, and visited brothels. Sometimes there was bitter cold, sometimes unbearable heat. He traveled the Continent, met nobles and commoners, learned about the value of friendship and betrayal. Some people spat at him and threw stones, others picked him up and healed his wounds.

The underlying fear that his body would betray and present him as an Omega one day was always there, but he shoved it away. He avoided getting in contact with human Alphas or Omegas because he wasn't sure if something about his genetic heritage would react with their scents. Sometimes he wondered if it was wrong to refuse to learn about the special bond Alphas and Omegas formed, but there were enough books and second-hand information that made him shiver.

It was another late summer when he decided he had enough. His last contract had turned out to be a disaster, as he hadn't been able to catch the Katakan in time. Two more young women had died before he had decapitated the beast and the villagers had driven him out of their settlement with pitchforks and torches.

The sight of Kaer Morhen lifted his spirits, but then he spotted the tips of several tents that had been set up next to the gatehouse and his face turned sour. It had been decades since the last humans had been at the keep and the sun-bleached bones of the dead Witchers could still be found in the moat that surrounded the fortress.

He could spot several humans and dwarves, all of them armed. An unknown banner blew over the fighters' heads. Geralt could not detect any form of open hostility, but a strange promise of violence filled the summer warm air like an invisible thunderstorm. As soon as the foreigners spotted him, they watched him suspiciously. Geralt checked his swords and rode hastily towards the portcullis where Vesemir was already waiting for him. The old Witcher's weathered face was serious.

“What is all this?”, Geralt blurted out without greeting his mentor and the old man frowned at the impoliteness.

“We have a guest. I will explain everything later.”

As soon as Geralt led Roach into the courtyard, he saw Lambert who immediately closed the massive iron gate behind them.

“Greetings, pretty boy”, the young Witcher grinned. “Welcome to the fortress of 'We shouldn't give a fuck'.”

“Lambert!”, Vesemir hissed sharply, but the other Witcher just shrugged.

“It's the truth”, Lambert murmured and turned to look at the ramp to the second courtyard. Geralt's heart missed a beat as he saw two figures approaching slowly. It was Eskel and he was accompanied by a beautiful young woman. Fine blonde hair hovered around her face like a halo. Behind her, two unnaturally large black wolves watched every step she made. “May I present – Deirdre Ademeyn. She is Eskel's child surprise and these people out there want to turn her inside out, because she's cursed.”

“Lambert!” This time it was Eskel who scolded the young Witcher, but as always, his voice was way softer than Vesemir's. His gaze met Geralt's for a second and he nodded sharply. “Wolf, you are early this year. Deirdre, this is Geralt.”

The woman extended a gloved hand and Geralt took it. He noticed her grip was strong and her eyes fierce. The wolves behind her back growled lowly, but Geralt was too baffled to really notice. Eskel had a child surprise and he hadn't known it until this very moment?

But then he reminded himself that he had lost every right to know what happened in Eskel's life and he bit down a snarky remark.

“Indeed, these people out there want to kill me. Including my brother Mervin and the mage Sabrina Glevissig”, Deirdre explained coolly. Her voice was clear and vibrated with a strange power that made Geralt feel queasy. “So I decided to remind Eskel of the responsibilities of the Law of Surprise he has been evading for the last twenty years.”

Geralt decided he hated her at the same moment she uttered those words, mostly because he saw how his brother flinched. Who was this woman to criticize Eskel for what had been done out of motives that could have been nothing more but noble and kind? Because Geralt just knew Eskel always wanted the best for each person around him, even when it came to himself.

“You want our help?”, Geralt gritted and his gloved hand closed around Roach's reins. “We don't get involved in human quarrels.”

“That's what I was told, yes”, Deirdre nodded, but Eskel cut in:

“We are the only Witchers who are here at the moment, so we should decide about it together.”

“Fine”, Geralt breathed. “Need to tend Roach, then we meet in the hall.”

He was calm again when he sat down at the table with Vesemir, Lambert, and Eskel sometime later. Vesemir's gaze was troubled and Eskel didn't look any happier. Only Lambert didn't seem to care and drank beer from a tankard.

“I asked her to wait for our decision at her room”, Eskel explained, without any further introduction. His large hands clamped around a book he produced from his bag. He didn't look up, lost in thoughts that clouded his forehead. “It's called the curse of the black sun. I have collected information about it after I learned Deirdre suffered from it. The more I looked into the matter, the less certain I was if it's really a curse or if someone invented it to clean some undesired woman from the face of the Continent. So I think we should protect her. Although she has magical powers that could turn out dangerous.”

“Nah, we all know what happens when we meddle with the affairs of humans and mages”, Lambert murmured and shook his head. The open and unveiled pain on his face showed how much he still struggled with the sacking of Kaer Morhen. “I mean, poor girl, but if the lodge of the sorceresses and her brother, who is a fucking prince who could bring another fucking army, want her dead, then we should hand her over to them. And the magical powers you are talking about are blocking our signs, Esk. That's not only dangerous – she's a living and breathing menace.”

Geralt turned to see what Vesemir thought, but the old Witcher shook his head.

“No, I will not decide this”, Vesemir told him and clasped his hands. He looked terribly old and beaten, just like Lambert. “I am all for the neutrality of this place, but my judgment is tainted by what happened. You are young, Geralt. You may have learned something about humans during the last years that I just can't see any more.”

Geralt exhaled sharply and felt how the cold discomfort rose from his guts. He had a really bad feeling about this situation and would have preferred to not face this cruel vote at all, but once again, he had no choice. 

“I am sorry, Eskel”, Geralt mumbled lowly and rubbed his face. He longed for a hot bath and some hours of undisturbed sleep. “We can't let her stay here. Lambert is right. If that prince comes at us with his men, we are done. Finally done.”

Eskel's hands let go of the book and crashed onto the tabletop.

“Fine”, he rumbled and rose to his impressive height. There was guilt in Eskel's eyes, despair, and deception and even though Geralt had thought he had gotten used to being the reason for these feelings, he still felt miserable. “I will tell her and bring her outside. She promised she would go willingly, but I will not leave her alone.”

“I will join you, Esk”, Lambert mumbled into his tankard, face sour, but determined and Vesemir patted his back with fatherly pride. “Just give me five minutes for getting as drunk as possible.”

All of them accompanied Deirdre and her two wolves out of the fortress. The woman was unnaturally calm and composed, but her blue eyes held a strange emotion Geralt couldn't decipher. Was it triumph? Or madness?

They were met by a young man in noble attire and a dashingly beautiful blonde mage, surrounded by a dozen of guards. None of them had drawn a weapon, but all of them seemed to be ready for a fight. It gave Geralt strange satisfaction that he could smell their anxiety.

“Prince Mervin”, Vesemir's voice was steely and determined. “We have decided to release your sister into your custody. But don't think we will forget we were forced into this choice.”

The noble bowed politely.

“Thank you, Master Vesemir. We will leave as soon as possible and never return. I assure you I will stand true to my word."

Mervin's even face was blank, not giving away any of his true feelings, but his tone was sincere. Behind his back, the mage smiled with content.

“All of you are traitors. So I will stand true to my word, too”, Deirdre spat scornfully and suddenly lunged forward. Everybody had expected it, first of all the Witchers who now drew their swords in unison, but none of them had been prepared for the sudden rumble of the ground that swept them off their feet. Giant plants emerged from the cracking earth, spiked branches whipped around and the air was filled with the stench of acid.

Deirdre's wolf companions howled and attacked the mage, who stumbled backward as she became aware that her magic, too, was annihilated by Deirdre's powers, and finally, a dark cloud of arrows emerged from the nearby woods and showered down on the group.

Chaos erupted everywhere. Men cried out in pain and distress, waving their swords around to evade the deadly plants and the fangs of the raging animals. Some of Mervin's warriors died instantly, impaled by the Archaespores or the deadly projectiles Deirdre's hidden allies sent from their hidden posts.

Geralt stumbled back to his feet and was immediately hit by two Archaespor tendrils. He managed to cut them down, but one had ripped his gambeson's sleeve and he felt he started bleeding sluggishly. Another wave of arrows hit everything living being around him. 

Deirdre stood proudly in the center of the uproar, unharmed and laughing like a madwoman. Vicious magic swirled around her hands that now held a dagger as she stepped forward, directly towards Eskel, who was fighting another Archaespore, tangled in the roots.

Geralt's desperate cry faded away unheard and he could only watch in horror as the princess reached his brother and yanked him around with unnatural strength. Her dagger glinted in the sunlight as it slashed down, again and again, until Eskel's chest and face were nothing more than bloody masses of raw flesh.

Something inside of Geralt's mind and body broke and he howled out in rage and pain. The woman had hurt his _mate! mate?_ and he sprinted forward, ignoring the arrow that pierced his leg, sword high in the air.

“No!”, he yelled as he hacked his way through the vines. “No! Eskel!”

Deirdre still laughed as she turned to meet Geralt's hateful gaze. High pitched. Triumphant. And then, she simply left, wolves and armed men rushing to her side from the woods. Her work was done. Nobody dared to follow her. Geralt fell down to his knees, dragging his brother up in his arms, cradling him tenderly just like Eskel had held him so long ago.

There was movement around him, but he didn't notice it. He clung to Eskel's body until Vesemir and Lambert dragged him away and a female voice shouted something he just didn't understand. Then he passed out.


	8. Destined

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another soft chapter with a bit of genuine tenderness and excessive swearing at the end, as Geralt decides to stops being a total asshole. I hope you enjoy it :)

“Come on, White Wolf, rise and shine.” It was Lambert's voice that dragged Geralt back into consciousness. With a groan, he opened his eyes and immediately remembered everything, but before he could jump out of his bed, Lambert's firm hand held him down. “Eskel is still alive. We're all alive.”

A sigh of relief dropped from Geralt's lips, but he saw that the young Witcher's eyes were troubled and bare of his usual mockery.

“But it's bad?”, he rasped and Lambert finally let him sit up and inspect his bandaged body. “How bad?”

One of Lambert's arms rested in a sling and the side of his face was bruised and swollen. The young Witcher sighed and scratched his neck awkwardly.

“Well, Deirdre's mercenaries nearly killed all of her brother's soldiers, but Mervin and the sorceresses live. She is trying to save Eskel, but – well, you should see for yourself. He's in his room. Vesemir and the sorceress are with him.”

Lambert's lips were a bloodless line when he helped Geralt up and tossed him his clothes, but he stayed in the corridor when Geralt finally rushed into Eskel's room. 

Vesemir leaned on the wall, arms crossed over his chest. The sorceress, Sabrina, sat at Eskel's beside, one hand hovering over his chest. The air crackled slightly where streams of chaos emitted from her shaky fingers and penetrated the unconscious man's body. She didn't look up from her doing and Geralt didn't dare to interrupt her, because she looked frail, as if she could pass out every minute.

“Eskel.” It was everything what Geralt could think, feel, say. Deirdre's dagger had destroyed the right side of his brother's beautiful face. Although it seems that Eskel's eye was still intact, the blade had cut away so much flesh that Geralt could see bone and teeth shimmering through the scarring tissue.

“I am sorry, Master Vesemir”, the sorceress said and removed her hand. She was pale and shaking. “I could heal the internal damage to his heart and lungs and he will live. But chaos always comes with a price and as his own magic is resisting me, I can't go any further without risking his life again.”

“Thank you”, Geralt rasped and for the first time, Sabrina met his glance. She composed herself and rose to her feet, only to stagger forward and be caught in Vesemir's arms.

“You shall rest”, the old Witcher ordered and led her out of the room. Geralt immediately took her place at Eskel's bedside and just stared. He observed every rise and fall of his brother's chest under the blanket that covered his bandaged chest. 

How was it possible that he had never really noticed how broad Eskel's shoulders had become over the course of the years? How the jet black of his brother's hair and stubble were contrasting with the golden skin that now was shockingly translucent?

Geralt rose his hand to touch what had nearly been stolen from him, but the movement stopped mid-air. All of his senses screamed at him as he tried to regain his self-control. He remembered the uproar in his soul when Eskel had fallen under Deirdre's dagger and that he had never felt like this before.

The word _mate_ resonated in his skull again and it all came down to one terrible realization. Geralt pulled back the sleeve of his tunic and stared at his wrist. The little lump under the thin skin was barely visible, but he could feel it now.

It had started. And as his body had recognized Eskel as something he should react to, there was one last thing he needed to know. Carefully, Geralt took his brother's hand and turned it to reveal the little peek of skin over Eskel's pulse – his scent gland. _Their_ scent glands. The proof that they both had finally lost control over their lives.

Geralt now smelled it, the musky aroma that had begin to creep into his mind, that had forced him to see Eskel as an Alpha. A dominant creature, even though he was at his weakest. A beautiful man whose powerful body attracted Geralt. Every cell of the Witcher's being wanted to crawl onto Eskel's bed and bathe in the scent that promised security and peace. Something inside of him told him that it was his duty to nurse his brother back to health, to help and support him, so that they would be whole again.

Geralt bit his lip so hard he tasted blood and forced himself to breathe through his mouth. The coppery aroma on his tongue helped him to focus again. His rivaling instincts wanted him to flee from this situation and, at the same time, to stay and provide whatever would be needed.

It was his bad conscience that finally made the decision. Geralt stayed. He fetched the chair from the desk and sat down, creating the distance he needed to come to his senses again.

He didn't know how much time passed, as he fell asleep at some point, but when Vesemir came to take his place, he sent the old man away with harsh words. This was his fault and he needed to make it right. He could have decided in Deirdre's favor, could have prevented this disaster. Maybe, under his brother's ongoing tutelage, she would have had a chance to live freely. 

But he had been too tired to think straight and had decided out of his fear to lose his family again, as it had happened before. He should have talked to his brother in private, hear his arguments before making the hasty decision that had led to Eskel's terrible injuries.

More hours elapsed. Lambert brought some water and supplies and announced he would take over the vigil. Geralt tried to dismiss him as he had dismissed Vesemir, but Lambert proved to be much more stubborn than their mentor.

“Come on”, Lambert hissed and poked Geralt's leg, right on the bandage that still covered the arrow wound. “You're the worst nurse for him at the moment. Can't risk you finally killing him off.”

Geralt's patience went from worn thin to nonexistent and he rose to plant his fist directly into Lambert's face, but the younger man caught his hand with ease. “See, pretty boy? That's exactly what I meant.”

Geralt's anger deflated immediately. He shot Lambert an apologetic glance.

“Sorry. I am just -.”

“Yeah, fucked up. As always when it comes to Esk. Mind telling me now what's going on between the two of you?”

The angry and annoyed cleft in Lambert's forehead deepened visibly. Geralt sighed.

“I can't tell you, Lambert. I trust you, but it's Eskel's secret, too. Can't give it away.”

“Alright.” The younger Witcher shrugged and offered half a grin. “At least it's good to see you still care about him. You fuckers are the only two people in this rotten keep I don't hate and it's damn hard to stand your bullshit.”

“It's not bullshit, it's just -.” Geralt knew his words sounded lame because Lambert was right. “Maybe I should meditate. Pick me up when he wakes.”

“Sure.” Lambert shoved him out of the room and the last thing Geralt heard from the sickroom was a low, but passionate “It _is_ bullshit”.

Despite his sorrow, Geralt grinned weakly, as he knelt down in the room he had been brought to after the battle against Deirdre and her men. He considered it as 'his room', although he had been sharing it with other Witchers during the last winters in order to save firewood.

He wondered how many men would come back to Kaer Morhen this winter. Ten more? Five? He wouldn't find out because he knew he needed to leave the keep as soon as he could be sure that Eskel was recovering properly. It was impossible for both of them to stay at their home at the same time. And Geralt knew his brother would need the community of Witchers more than he did.

His body dropped into meditation smoothly, but he couldn't push away the strange uneasiness that came along with the much-needed rest and so, much later, his mind jumped into reality as he heard a faint wail that hit him right into the core.

Geralt's legs felt numb after the long time of kneeling, but he didn't think about it as he leaped up and rushed back into the sickroom. Lambert was trying to hold Eskel's arms down, clutching his wrists with all his might, but the young Witcher was no match for Geralt's brother who shook him off with another pained cry.

Geralt was at his brother's side immediately and caught Eskel's hands before they could touch the healing flesh of his face.

“Esk, you need to calm down. Lie still”, he murmured and there was something in his voice he had never felt before. A low vibrato that seemed to seep from his own resonating body directly into Eskel's warm skin. His brother relaxed and sank back into the mattress with a sigh, amber eyes wide open and hazed with the strangest expression of wonder.

“Ger'lt?” Eskel's voice, warm and exhausted, left a fuzzy feeling in Geralt's chest and enhanced the all-consuming desire to not only touch his brother's hands. Geralt's vision blurred and the rational part of his mind explained that their scent glands were too close, but the reasonable voice was dimmed to insignificant background noise as he bent down and -.

Lambert's hand pulled him away and shook him like an ill-mannered dog. Geralt moaned and blinked in surprise, as his knees gave in and he slid to the cold stone ground.

“Holy shit”, Lambert cursed whole-heartedly and sat down heavily right next to Geralt. “You're Alpha and Omega. Holy fucking shit. ”


	9. Forward

Lambert kept cursing under his breath, but he was intelligent enough to stop it the moment he dragged Geralt out of Eskel's sickroom. They found Vesemir in the courtyard. The old Witcher had accompanied Sabrina Glevissig back to her tent. When he saw Geralt wiggling in Lambert's grasp, his eyes widened and he waved at them to follow him to the library.

“So”, he said slowly when they were alone. “It started?”

Geralt had been able to get Eskel's scent out of his system and rubbed his temples.

“Yes. Maybe the attack triggered it. Eskel and I – we both show symptoms.”

Lambert rolled his eyes.

“Symptoms, yeah. Like it was some sort of fucking disease.”

Vesemir's gaze stopped Lambert's rambling immediately.

“Son, we need to find a way to deal with this”, the old man said gently and put a calming hand on Geralt's shoulder. “You can decide to stay here over the winter, but if either you or Eskel are in heat or rut, it will be terrible for both of you. In case you won't choose each other as a partner.”

“Eskel has a partner”, Geralt mumbled and crossed his arms. “And I don't want to surrender to this – thing that is happening with my body.”

Vesemir and Lambert exchanged glances and Geralt knew he was missing something important, but didn't dare to ask.

“Then you plan to leave?”, Vesemir enquired. “Eskel is in no condition to travel.”

“I know!” Geralt yelled now. The sight of his brother's destroyed face had sent a sharp pain through his chest and the feeling still simmered there, cutting like a knife. He could have lost Eskel. Maybe, a small voice in the back of his head told him, there was no connection between his awakening secondary gender and his feelings. Maybe his agonizing fear was something that was genuinely Geralt and not an Omega who wanted to protect an Alpha he felt connected to. But these thoughts led to the point he feared the most. “The last thing he needs right now is me!”

“Are you so sure about it, Geralt?” Vesemir's voice was still friendly. “You share a fate, always have. Only you can understand what he will be going through.”

Geralt threw his hands into the air and started pacing.

“He's not himself. I am not myself. I can't make this decision with him nearly been killed. I need to go as soon as possible.”

Lambert grumbled something and Geralt shot him an acid glance. But the younger Witcher wasn't ready to back off again.

“Geralt, you're a prick. Everybody knows Eskel has been in love with you for ages. And yeah, I am aware it's not my secret to share, but you've been treating him like shit for the last years and he just let you. You made all the choices for both of you. Now you're doing it again, using his injuries as a lame excuse.”

“It's not an excuse!”, Geralt roared, but Lambert just sneered:

“Sure you do. You punish him for being an Alpha because you are afraid to be an Omega. Better to attack the enemy right away before he exploits your weaknesses, right? But it's Eskel, Geralt. Not an enemy.”

Geralt just stared at Lambert and felt the urge to hit him. He made a step in Lambert's direction, but Vesemir's hand stopped him.

“You need to hear this, Geralt”, the older Witcher said, voice filled with determination. “You said you aren't yourself – then you should consider you're making a mistake.”

Geralt stopped dead and glowered at Lambert, who showed a smug grin. But then he exhaled heavily and sat down on a bench.

“I know Eskel is not my enemy. We were friends once, but now I am not sure anything of it was real.”

“Because you know shit about Witcher Alphas and Omegas”, Lambert grumbled and as Geralt nodded reluctantly, he sighed. “None of us does, in fact. Could have asked, proud boy.”

“I read something about them, but I was – too ashamed to address it here”, Geralt admitted slowly and felt like the idiot he obviously was. Vesemir produced a low, encouraging humming and patted his shoulder again. “Human Omegas are so – strange. Weak. Spineless. Easy to manipulate.”

Lambert groaned in despair.

“Yeah, because you are such a weak, spineless personality, Geralt. Being an Omega doesn't change who you are. Only who you bed.”

“And excuse me for saying so”, Vesemir cut in and folded his large, scarred hands. “I know you will have a hard time when your mating cycle starts in near future – if it even starts at all. But have you thought of what a Witcher Alpha will go through when he's in his rut?”

Geralt had to admit he hadn't, so he shook his head and stared to the ground.

“What do you mean, Vesemir?”, he asked with a voice so frail he didn't recognize it as his own.

“Witchers are made to kill. You could break a human's neck with one hand, but you won't do it because you are a good man. Being in your heat, you won't harm any human Alpha you chose as a potential partner. And even if you refuse to take a lover and neglect your needs as an Omega, no one but you will suffer under the consequences.”

Geralt blinked in surprise.

“But it will be different for Eskel”, he mumbled and his eyes widened as he understood the full extent of Vesemir's allusion.

“Yes.” The old man looked at him, gaze filled with sorrow. “Eskel could find a Witcher partner here – any partner, not only you as an Omega if you don't want to. It would help, even though it's not perfect. Or he could deny himself his Alpha cravings – maybe chain himself up or drink himself into oblivion. Will it do him any good? I don't think so. But what will happen if he's on the Path, without a matching partner? What if his instincts set in and he accidentally hurts someone? A human? Eskel would never be able to forgive himself if anything likes this happens.”

Geralt shook his head violently.

“Eskel would never hurt somebody. Or force himself on another person. That's not like him.”

“You think so, yes. Me too. But Eskel isn't sure about it. He's anxious. In pain. And lonely. And you – punished him for being what he is. You pushed him away because you were scared of him, without even knowing if there was a reason to be scared at all. Didn't help him with his own fears, either.”

“Shit.” In all these years, Geralt hadn't thought about his. Of course, he hadn't, because he had simply pushed every thought about their second genders aside, not allowing them to distract him from the life he had chosen to live. “What – can we do? To make it easier for him?” He cleared his throat. “What could _I_ do?”

It was again Lambert who spoke. The young Witcher scratched his chin thoughtfully, eyes focussed on something beyond the booked-lined walls of the library.

“Aren't there potions who help human Alphas and Omegas to suppress their mating cycles? Maybe I could go to my lab and change the recipes to fit both you and Eskel. Would be worth a try. But I don't think I can do it without any clue what these original potions are based on.”

Geralt sprung to his feet. The new perceptive Lambert had offered him suddenly washed away his fears and tiredness.

“I will get them for you, Lambert. It's early enough in the year to make it down to Ban Ardh or another bigger city and then return before the Killer is impassable.”

“That's a good idea”, Vesemir said solemnly. “But be careful. These recipes are extremely valuable for their owners. And not all of them are effective.”

“I will find them”, Geralt rasped and clapped Lambert's shoulder. “Thank you, Lamb.”

“Yeah, yeah, just don't tell the others I can be a nice guy.” The younger man's face contorted into a grimace. “Man, all this work because of you who doesn't want to get laid by his one true love.”

“Eskel's not my one true love.” Geralt made a face because something about these words didn't sound right. “He's just my best friend, alright?”

“Pffft, details.” Lambert grinned, teeth bared. “Heard love isn't all about romantic picnics and holding hands in public.”

“Lambert”, Vesemir scolded him good-naturedly. Lambert just shrugged. Then the old Witcher turned to face Geralt again. “Go now. We will care for Eskel until your return. And then, we will find a solution. For both of you. Together.”

“Like a large, happy family.”

“Lamb, shut up!”

“Never, pretty boy. Never.”


End file.
